The blazing sun stood high,
The masses pressed along the bend
To view the runner nigh.
With every step, his pounding heart
Pulsed only for the goal,
No fellow caught his steadfast gaze—
He ran with strength and soul.
Amidst the crowded throng, a man
Regarded every move,
His eye filled with a father’s care,
His courage it behooved.
Then, suddenly, a gasp arose,
The mighty now was fallen!
The faces that were filled with joy
Now gazed on, grave and sullen.
Bursting from the stands, one dashed
To his beloved’s side,
Urging with a father’s love
He bade his son resign.
But, through the pain and agony,
The wounded son replied,
“I cannot quit! I will not quit!
I’ll cross the finish line.”
Then lifting up the fallen,
The father held his son—
And arm in arm, step by step,
The two continued on.
Together, to the finish line,
Together in the race,
Supported by his father’s hand,
The faithful set his face.
Captured by the tender sight
The crowd watched breathlessly,
Then, broke forth wild in applause
As they crossed victoriously.
Not to the swift, nor yet the strong,
Is life’s compelling race,
But to the faithful, though cast down,
Who keep a steady pace.
Yet, e’re the runner meets the ground,
The Father comes along,
And, lifting up His fallen one,
Restores the triumph song.
Holding fast His weary one--
Supported by His grace--
Together, they press onward,
Together, win the race.
Copyright © Elisabeth Linzey 2016